GAME OVER: a Be More Chill fic

Level 3

"I can't believe her!" Jeremy fumed. Michael passed him the joint.

"Me either, man." He barely flinched as Jeremy suddenly hurled his empty bottle into the street and watched it shatter. He planned on talking to him more seriously later, making sure he would be okay, but for now Michael knew Jeremy just needed to blow off steam. That's why they were on Michael's front porch step, armed with a lighter and a box full of memories.

After Jeremy stormed out of Yogurt City, the boys had left the mall in a hurry. Michael didn't need to ask what happened; he knew it was nothing good. He brought Jeremy home, instructing him to collect anything he had that reminded him of Christine, then drove him right back to his own house before Mr. Heere got home from work. Michael stole a few bottles of beer from the fridge (his father wouldn't notice -- he never did), rolled a joint, and got down to business. He told Jeremy that burning keepsakes was a great way to release anger at somebody. He didn't tell Jeremy about his prior experience with this activity.

Michael grabbed the box beside him and opened it before he could think too much about the night of the play. "Okay. Things that remind you of That Bitch," he began. "A program from Romeo and Juliet."

"Ugh, freshman year." He snatched it from Michael's hand. "Burn it."

Michael clicked his lighter so Jeremy could light the playbill. He let the fire spread over the paper for a moment, then reached for the second item with his free hand.

"A birthday card?" he inquired.

"I chickened out on giving it to her last year, so I kept it." Jeremy paused to take a hit, and muttered through the smoke. "Then I chickened out on giving it to her this year. I never got rid of it, though."

Michael held out the card and Jeremy ignited it with the burning program. He watched the flames curl around both, charring "Happy Birthday!" and destroying "STARRING CHRISTINE CANIGULA AS JULIET". The boys let the papers burn in silence until the fire was nearly singeing their fingertips and then dropped them onto the grass.

Michael took a third item from the box. "A tissue?" He looked at Jeremy in confusion before realization flashed across his face, then shock, then disgust. He dropped the tissue and wiped his hand on his jeans in a panic. "Ew, gross, Jeremy, why the fuck would you keep that!? When I said 'things that remind you of Christine' I didn't mean -- "

"No, no! That's -- not -- " Jeremy's face flushed red as he snatched the box back. "You can't seriously think -- " He quickly unwrapped the tissue to reveal a little red rose corsage.

"Oh," Michael laughed in relief. Jeremy smacked him on the arm. "Ow! Jerk. Jerk... off." That earned him another smack.

"Fuck you." Jeremy tried and failed to hide his laughter at his friend's fake hurt expression. Michael pulled a deeply offended face at the idea of being laughed at and gave Jeremy a playful shove, which only made him laugh harder, sending them both into a stream of giggles for a good minute. Jeremy collapsed against Michael's shoulder as he struggled to get a grip. Finally, they both sighed, seemingly finished, but then Michael snorted and started the whole thing over again. By the time they really were done, Jeremy was actually starting to feel a bit better.

Jeremy laid his head back on Michael's shoulder. His face fell suddenly as he held up the corsage. "It, uh... it was for the winter dance. Next weekend." Tears threatened to spill. "I was going to ask her -- " His voice broke. He was crying now, and he knew he wouldn't be able to stop. Michael noticed immediately.

"Jeremy." He wrapped his arms around the smaller boy and held him tightly.

This only made Jeremy cry harder. "I-I was going to a-ask her... a-after school Monday... tomorrow, I m-mean... sh-she told me she loves dancing," he sobbed. "I saw it a-at the mall... I couldn't p-pass it up... she-e loves roses... she would've looked s-so beautiful..."

"Shh, I know. I know." He held Jeremy tightly and rubbed his back. "It's okay."

"It's j-just that... I never thought... it w-would be over s-so fast." He pulled away and wiped his eyes. After a few deep breaths, he continued, with Michael listening intently, genuinely. "I did everything right. Not before, but... but after everything else, after the play... and even before, I did all that shit for her. All of it, the play, the lies, the fucking Squip, all of it! I mean, maybe I wasn't the perfect boyfriend, but I tried really hard, and I thought she'd see that, but she didn't, and I just -- I -- just -- ugh!" He threw another bottle in frustration. His chin quivered and tears filled his eyes again.

"I know, Jer. I know," Michael soothed. "I'm sorry."

Jeremy shook his head. "No, you didn't do anything. It's my fault. Everything was my fault."

"It wasn't all your fault, Jer. A lot of it was the Squip, and..." He trailed off, searching intently for the words. "'You are what you love, not who loves you,'" he sang softly.

Jeremy took a deep breath, finding the courage to speak, albeit hesitantly. "I don't know what I love. That's why the only time anything was going right for me was when I was Squipped. I wasn't a nobody. I wasn't the loser. It was the only time they really loved me. Chloe and Brooke, Rich, Jake. That's when I felt like I knew who I was, and it was who loved me."

"That wasn't love. If they loved you then, they'd still love you now. Love isn't because of how cool you are, it's because of how lame you are." Jeremy looked confused, so he explained, "We're pretty lame, right? But we stick together. As losers. That's what I mean, like, they don't love you, I love you."

Michael stopped. His eyes widened as he realized what he'd just said. He tried to play it off. "Not -- I mean, not like, in a gay way, you know. Whatever. But you love me too, and that -- that's better than being popular, right?"

Jeremy couldn't keep the smile from blooming on his face. "You love me."

"Don't make fun of me. You love me too, asshole."

"Yeah, but you said it."

"So you admit it! You love me!"

"What? You're gay and delusional."

"I -- I'm not gay! You're gay!"

"You're like the king of all homos, dude. Look at your -- " Jeremy cut himself off with a long yawn. " -- your hair."

"What's wrong with my hair, Sleeping Beauty?" But then he yawned too, so they decided to go back inside.

They headed back down to the basement, where Michael sat on the floor and Jeremy lay his head down on his lap. He let Michael stroke his hair as they listened to quiet but upbeat music. The "no homo" was implied, and the rules were a bit stretched from the weed and the beer anyway. At least that's what Jeremy told himself.

He looked up at Michael, leaning back against the wall, mouthing the words to something Jeremy had never heard before, eyes closed, his hand tangled in Jeremy's hair. He just looked. Something inside him wanted Michael to hug him again, or lean down and kiss his forehead, or even just look at him.

As if reading Jeremy's mind, Michael glanced down. Jeremy looked into his eyes for a beat longer than he should have, but Michael just smiled gently down at him. He blushed and closed his eyes. Friends don't think about friends that way, do they? Jeremy thought as he began to drift off. Friends don't want friends to let them fall asleep in their arms, or to kiss their forehead, or to stare deep into their eyes as they inch closer, until finally their lips connect... at least, straight friends don't.

Straight. Friends.

Fuck.

This could be a problem.